


Bring me back home

by Foodlover06



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, Hydra Peter Parker, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Identity Reveal, Irondad & Spiderson, May Parker (Spider-Man) Needs a Hug, My First Fanfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foodlover06/pseuds/Foodlover06
Summary: Mysterious, black-clad men armed with guns appear in a public park, terrorizing the civilians. There is no one around who could fight back and save them.Except Peter Parker.But he doesn't have his suit with him, and to fight now would require disclosing his secret identity to the world, something he had always done his best to avoid. Nevertheless, he swings in to save the day, revealing himself as Spider-Man.HYDRA takes a special interest in the enhanced teenager.Post-Homecoming, and I'm going to ignore the fact that Infinity War and Endgame ever happened. Sorry that I suck at summaries.





	1. Not a normal day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so, this is my first fanfiction so I'm sorry if it's really bad (which it probably will be, what the heck am I even doing, I have no idea) but, like, please be nice, since my self esteem is practically nonexistent as it is.
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much for reading, I really hope you enjoy. If you don't, that's fine, but I will ask you to refrain from being rude, because that's just no fun for anybody.

It was supposed to be a normal day.

Just a normal day for a normal teenage boy, hanging out with his normal friends in a normal public park near his very normal home. He was supposed to return to said normal home after his normal day to eat a normal dinner with his normal aunt.

It was most certainly not a normal day, but then nor was he a normal teenage boy.

Oh, sure, he went to school and had friends and got bullied like a normal teenage boy. As Peter Parker,  _ normal _ was just the word to describe him. But then Oscorp happened, and when he was bitten by the radioactive spider, his life was changed forever.

After the incident, he was bedridden for four days with an upset stomach and a terrible fever, and when he recovered, he’d discovered all sorts of bizarre powers that he  _ definitely  _ had not possessed before, and he reasoned that he might as well put them to good use. 

Peter had always looked up to the Avengers, because, well, why not? They were Earth’s mightiest heroes, fighting anyone and anything who threatened their home, and they never failed to defend the planet. But they focused on the big picture, on aliens and rogue robots bent on world domination. Leaving the civilians to fend for themselves against everyday dangers.

They were a large team of dynamic individuals with conflicting opinions. Muggings, rapings, thievery; the Avengers couldn't cover those kinds of problems; they were too small-scale and insignificant. 

And Peter knew this, and respected it, but he couldn’t help but feel someone had to address these issues. And who better than himself, now that he was enhanced? So Peter designed some web shooters (for the “spider aesthetic”) and donned a rather crude costume, and thus Spider-Man, the crime-stopping vigilante known for his heroic deeds such as rescuing cats from trees and helping elderly women across streets, was born.

Protecting the little guy. That was his role. It was a simple one; with his abilities, the muggers, rapists, and thieves were no match. He had never gotten critically wounded as Spider-Man in his life, excluding the Civil War and the Vulture incident. Because of this, it was relatively easy to juggle both Spider-Man and life as a high school student.

Until today.

Peter was with Ned and MJ, and everything was going smoothly. It was a beautiful day, he was spending time with his best friends, and he felt great. All the weight of the stress and anxiety was lifted from his shoulders as he and Ned discussed Star Wars on the bench, with MJ beside them casually reading a book and occasionally interjecting into their conversation.

Then, the screaming.

The gunshots.

Peter’s head snapped up, and he glanced about wildly for the source of the noise. Ned and MJ were also looking around, apprehension clear on their faces.

It didn’t take long for them to notice what was causing all the commotion. All the way on the opposite end of the park, there were five men dressed in black, (Why is it  _ always _ black?) firing guns, (Why are they  _ always _ holding guns?) and generally causing an uproar. 

People were screaming and shoving each other in a desperate attempt to escape. Fortunately, the park was rather empty, and no one had died yet, that was always a plus. Unfortunately, the men had  _ guns _ which were very capable of killing someone, and there were no heroes conveniently passing by who could come to the rescue.

Well, except him, of course.

As always, his web-shooters were strapped to his wrist beneath a long-sleeved shirt; he’d become quite paranoid after the whole Vulture fiasco. But to fight right then, right there meant compromising his identity, and he contemplated his options.

Ned shot him a frantic look and asked in a panicked voice, “Well, Peter? Aren’t you going to do anything?”

Peter glanced nervously at MJ.

“Hey--” he began.

MJ shot him a glance before rolling her eyes. “I know,” she said, and Peter blinked in surprise. “You’re not exactly subtle,” she elaborated.

“Oh…” Peter said, a bit disoriented, before he looked away from his friends, and his gaze settled back for a split second onto the devastation before him, the few people who hadn’t yet escaped scattering, screaming, as the men in black unleashed a rain of bullets, as one girl who couldn’t be more than seven or eight fell, as the grass around her was stained a dark red…

And he made up his mind. Really, it wasn’t a difficult decision. He’d become Spider-Man because he wanted to help people. If he was going to let people die when he could have saved them, purely for the selfish reason of protecting his identity, then he wasn’t worthy of his powers at all.

Peter pulled his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the web-shooters hidden beneath, and fired a web that attached itself to a nearby lamppost. He then began to swing towards the other side of the park. In the back of his mind, he knew there would be consequences to confronting those men without his mask in broad daylight, thereby revealing his secret to the world, but in that moment, there was only one thing that mattered: protecting the little guy. He had to help those people.

He touched down next to one of the men, in the opposite direction of the civilians in order to make sure no stray bullets hit them, and wrenched the gun out of villain’s hands.  _ I can’t believe I’m doing this.  _ It felt so different without the protection of the suit.

“Hey, man, you know guns are dangerous, right?” he quipped, trying to cover up how nervous and insecure he really felt about revealing his identity. “Lots of innocent kids have died because of school shootings. That’s  _ bad, _ you know. Are you trying to get someone hurt?”

The man fired a shot at Peter’s head, which he dodged easily. “Yeah, I guess you  _ are, _ ” he muttered under his breath, while simultaneously punching the man in the face. Blood spurted from his nose and he fell to the ground, a bruise blossoming on his face. 

“My teachers say that bullies are only mean to others because they’re jealous that other people have something they don’t. You should look into some healthier ways to release stress. Therapy, maybe? Instead of, you know, genocide,” Peter said, louder, trying to distract the villains. Right now, allowing all the citizens to escape was priority. He turned and ducked the bullets that were coming his way from the other four men, who had noticed him by now.

Peter swung his leg around, tripping the guy closest to him, then trapped him in a web as he was stumbling to the ground. Out of the corner of the eye, he could see a woman and her son fleeing, the last of the stragglers, and sighed in relief. Now he could really fight in earnest.

He shot webs at two guys at the same time, yanking their guns away and tossing them aside. Then he punched the other man in the throat, causing him to double over in pain. Peter’s spider-sense buzzed, and he ducked just in time to a fist from one of the men behind him. 

Peter looked up at last, the rush of adrenaline fading away. He looked down to examine his injuries —he had a couple bruises and scrapes here and there, but there was no heavy bleeding, and no bullets had gotten to him—before looking back up to examine his surroundings.  Ned and MJ were a safely far away, but he could see them easily with his enhanced senses. He saw the splatters of blood on the ground and the five tied-up men struggling to get free, and their guns lying haphazardly on the ground around the area. He saw a group of civilians lurking in the distance with terrified faces. 

_ Flash. _

And then, at last, he saw the cameras.

He turned to face the reporters, horrified, his hands coming up to cover his mouth. Sure, he’d known that he’d be revealing himself as Spider-Man, but he did not expect there to be actual  _ reporters _ to arrive at the scene so quickly, nor for there to be so  _ many.  _

They all had slight looks of shock on their faces, but they had clearly been around long enough to figure out what was going on. Their cameras were pointed at his face and they were speaking to him, but their voices sounded slurred he couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. The flashes from the cameras seemed so bright they burned his eyes. The air was stuffy and suffocating and his ears were ringing with the beginnings of a migraine and his chest felt hollow and his knees weak and he just had to  _ get out of there. _

“I’m… sorry…” he managed to say in a weak, raspy voice. Why did his throat feel so thick?

He shot a web at a nearby building and used it to haul himself upwards, into the New York skyline. The reporters trained their cameras towards him and shouted after him, but he ignored them and continued heading home, feeling sick.

His hands were shaking furiously and he almost fell out of the air onto the concrete twice. Tears slipped off his face and down his chin as he swung along. His breaths were labored, and made his chest ache painfully. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached home.

Peter pried open the window to his room and entered. He always left it unlocked so he could get into the house after patrol. He closed the curtains, sighing in the blessed relief of the darkness, collapsed exhaustedly onto his bed and groaned loudly as the full weight of what he had done hit him like a truck.

_ Oh my god,  _ Peter thought.  _ I am so screwed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that? If you did, please let me know (so that I know whether I should continue this fic, but also just because I need an ego boost) and if you found anything I should fix, bring it to my attention and I will correct it as soon as possible.
> 
> Sorry for the weak intro, but things will pick up and become interesting (I hope).
> 
> Once again, please no hate, and thanks for reading, I love you all so much you have no idea.


	2. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has revealed his identity as Spider-Man. Now he must suffer the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire work was created because of boredom, but I have actually decided to continue it! The first chapter was basically written on impulse and I hadn't thought about the actual plot at all, other than to include Hydra!Peter because I just love that trope, so I'm just going to figure it out as I go along. Sorry that it's not very well put together.
> 
> I'm kind of surprised I got it out in time, because I was grounded from the computer for two days because apparently eating an entire container of ice cream in one go is not socially acceptable.
> 
> I actually didn't really have any ideas as to what I should put in this chapter, so I just wrote whatever came to mind, but I did try to make it fairly entertaining. Please enjoy!

Peter lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, eyes wide but unseeing. The tips of his fingers and toes were numb and every breath caught in his throat like barbed wire, leaving him gasping and unable to breathe. There were tears streaming down his face in a hot, never-ending torrent.

Basically, he was a mess.

Peter’s head was pounding painfully, as though a herd of elephants were stampeding over his brain. It left him groggy and unable to focus, and all he wished that everything that had previously transpired was merely a nightmare and that and he would wake up in the morning, his identity intact, all his secrets safe.

But there was no deluding himself; this was no dream. He had made a decision and now he was going to have to suffer the consequences. It wasn’t necessarily that he  _ regretted _ saving those people; their lives were, without a doubt, more important than any secret identity. He just wished there could have been a better, cleaner way to absolve the situation.

Peter groaned in frustration and rubbed his throbbing temples. “ _ What  _ am I going to do now?” He muttered to himself, scrunching a fist around his bedsheets.

Suddenly the door to his room was flung open with a loud  _ crash _ and Aunt May was there, a concerned expression marring her features, and her lips were moving quickly, frantically, but his ears were ringing so loudly he couldn’t pick up on her words and the room was spinning and why couldn’t he  _ hear _ …

And then his chest constricted painfully and he couldn’t breathe and his lungs were being crushed in a tight fist and every inhale was like fire in his throat and his head hurt and everything hurt and he sank to the floor on his knees, crying, crying,  _ crying… _

_ “ _ Hey, Petey, sweetheart, it’s alright, everything’s alright,” A soft, familiar, comforting voice broke through pounding in his ears, bringing him back to reality, and Peter latched onto it like an anchor. “It’s okay, Peter, just breathe, breathe with me.”

Aunt May. Slowly, as Peter became more aware of his surroundings, he realized that curled up on May’s lap, clutching her forearms, sobbing into her chest like a child. But in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care how foolish he might have looked.

“I… l’m sorry, May… What, uh,  what were you trying to tell me?” Peter gasped when he had composed himself enough to be able to speak, though his hands were still shaking.

“Oh. Well, I was… watching the news…” May started hesitantly.

_ Oh. _

“W-was…was it me?”

May nodded sadly. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she whispered, holding him close. “You have no idea how terrified I was.”

“I-I’m sorry that I made— that I made you worry,” Peter murmured shakily.

May sighed, then asked, “What will you do now?”

“I don’t— I’m not sure. Maybe I should… maybe I’ll ask Mr. Stark,” Peter winced. “He’ll—he’ll be so d-disappointed.”

May stiffened, taking Peter by the shoulders and pulling him away to look into his eyes, them said sternly, “Don’t you dare say that. Mr. Stark cares about you very much. He’ll understand that what you did, you did to save those people in the park. He’s  _ proud  _ of you for doing what you did, and so am I.”

Peter sniffled, then looked up at her through watery eyes, feeling marginally better. “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” May said confidently, then pulled Peter to his feet. “Now get yourself cleaned up, you look like a hot mess. Is that  _ blood? _ ”

Peter rolled his eyes, but a small smile quirked his lips nonetheless.

———

Peter took a shower and put on fresh clothes, before taking a deep breath and going into the kitchen. May was there, holding her phone to her ear, speaking in a frustrated voice.

“ _ No _ , he will not join you for an interview. Yes, I’m sure about that. My boy is his own person, he doesn’t  _ want—  _ Oh, hello Peter, I didn’t see you there.” A beat. “ _ No _ , I will not allow you to speak to him. I—you know what, goodbye.” May hung up on whoever she was talking to with an exasperated huff and turned to Peter.

“What was that?” He asked, somewhat amused.

“A request for an interview with Spider-Man,” May informed him, “In the time it took you to take a shower, I’ve received three of them,  _ and  _ I had to turn away a horde of reporters that showed up at the front door.”

The phone rang again, and May groaned and ignored it. Peter laughed but then glanced at the screen and saw the caller ID: Tony Stark. He yelped in surprise.

“Aunt May, it’s from Mr. Stark!” He said, picking up the phone and pressing the green  _ Accept _ button, then putting the phone on speaker.

“You there, kid?” Mr. Stark’s voice inquired softly over the phone, pausing and then continuing when he heard Peter’s grunt of affirmation. “Yeah, I was just watching the news. and you will not  _ believe _ what I saw. That was quite the stunt you pulled.”

“Yeah, I know. There were shooters, and no one was around to stop them _. _ I know I didn’t really think everything through, but someone could have  _ died _ , and I wouldn’t be able to live knowing that I could have saved them. After everything I went through to keep my identity secret, too…”

“You did what was right, kiddo. I’m a little bit proud of you, actually. You saved all those people… but are  _ you _ alright?”

“Um, yeah, I think so. A little nervous, but I’ll be fine.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Mr. Stark said, and was that  _ affection _ in his voice? What in the world? “Still, you’re going to be a target for criminals and, even worse, paparazzi. I mean, sure, I love attention, but those guys are too nosy even for my liking. I know you’re probably having a hard time, so I’ll drop by later to check in, sound alright?”

“Oh, um, yeah, of course,” Peter said hurriedly, wondering if this was a dream or if Tony freaking  _ Stark _ was really going to come visit their tiny apartment purely out of worry for  _ him. _

“That sounds wonderful, thank you so much,” May said gratefully.

“No problem, I care about the kid too,” Mr. Stark responded. Anyways, I’d best go now, I have some important business that I may or may not have neglected in favor of calling you, and Pepper isn’t very happy with that.”

“Alright, goodbye,” May said, right before the call ended.

———

Two hours later, the doorbell rang.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter called, jumping up and making his way toward the front door. It wasn’t, however, Mr. Stark, but rather a woman holding a mic with a man behind her with a camera. Peter froze.

“Did you just say Mr.  _ Stark _ ?” the woman asked, then looked back at the camera. “It seems that Spider-Man has a very close relationship with Iron Man. Could it be? Is Peter Parker, recently revealed to be Spider-Man, secretly the illegitimate child of Tony Stark?”

“What? No—of course not...what are you...why would you think that?” Peter said nervously, quite out of his comfort zone. 

“Well, of course, it is merely a speculation, but some might say that your reaction confirms—” 

Peter’s enhanced hearing picked up on a faint humming in the air, gradually drawing closer.  _ Mr. Stark.  _ Peter closed his eyes and willed the man to move faster, so that he could save him from this strange situation. 

At last, Tony Stark came into view overhead. The reporter looked up as he landed, then said excitedly, “Mr. Stark, may we hear your point of view about the rumours—”

“You may  _ not _ ,” he said, and there was a hint of a threat in his tone. “I would like to talk to Peter and his aunt,  _ alone _ , so I must ask you to please remove yourself from my presence.”

“Y-yes, of course,” the woman says hastily, as she and her cameraman left.

Mr. Stark watched her leave, then turned back to Peter. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Peter said, sounding very much like the reporter woman. “Would you like anything to drink? We have tea, or coffee if you’d like that. Sorry, but the house is a bit messy, we didn’t really expect you to be here so soon. Would you like—”

Mr. Stark cut him off, looking slightly amused. “Stop rambling. It’s alright, I don’t need anything.”

“Okay, right, sorry, it’s just, you know, you’re so awesome and you came to specifically to see me and just… yeah.”

The man laughed a little at that. Peter called for his aunt and gestured toward the door, inviting him in, still not quite able to comprehend the fact that  _ Iron Man _ was standing right there in front of him. He had met the man several times before, and even fought with him, but he was still as awe-inspiring as always. 

May came up beside him and the two exchanged their greetings. Then the suit began to retract around Mr. Stark’s body (which was absolutely awesome), leaving him in a dark grey suit that looked like it cost more than Peter’s entire wardrobe combined, and the three reentered their small home.

Peter and Mr. Stark sat down on one of the couches in the living room while May went into the kitchen. She came back after a couple of minutes, and handed both of them a steaming cup of tea. Then she sat down as well, and there was a slightly awkward beat of silence where Peter sipped his tea and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and no one spoke.

Finally, Mr. Stark put his mug down on the coffee table with a soft  _ clink _ and looked at Peter, his gaze purposeful and intense, and said: “We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I'm hoping to suddenly be struck with inspiration for what's going to happen next, since I'm really not sure. I hope you enjoyed, and thank you to all who read!
> 
> If you have any suggestions for what I should put in the story, or if you notice any mistakes that I missed, or even if you just enjoyed the story, please leave a comment. It really makes me happy when people acknowledge my work.


	3. Moving into the Compound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter moves in with Tony at the Compound. Then unexpected stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, wow, I am actually so amazed at myself? 1200 hits already like how?? Thank you guys all so much, you have no idea how much it means to me. 
> 
> I'm happy to say that I have finally figured out a vague outline of the story's plot, so sorry that things have been kind of dull so far (because I was literally just writing with no idea how the story was going to fit together) but things will get interesting soon (hopefully).
> 
> Sorry if it's kind of badly written, I hit writer's block and didn't really know how to transition the story to actual Hydra!Peter, but I did try very hard and I hope you enjoy!

“We need to talk.” Mr. Stark speaks the words with a seriousness that Peter has never seen before, not even when the man had come to recruit him for the fight against Captain America in Germany.

“Do we _need_ to?” Peter asked, not wanting to discuss the complete and utter mess that his life had become, but knowing he had no choice, because one simply does not refuse _Tony Stark._

Mr. Stark sighed and rubbed his temples. “You did the right thing, kid. Don’t even doubt that. You saved all the people in the park. But we need to think about what to do now that…” He trailed off.

Peter sighed as well. “I know. I don’t regret what I did, but I don’t know what to do now.”

“Well, the important part is to keep you away from danger. Now that your identity is revealed, some of Spider-Man’s enemies are gonna want revenge. You also probably want to avoid reporters; I swear, those guys have reached levels of annoying I never even thought possible. Anyways, the priority is for you to keep a low-profile and avoid attracting attention. So,  to keep you away from the public eye, I’m giving you the offer to stay at the Avengers Compound for the time being, at least until the uproar dies down. Your aunt can come too, of course.”

Peter blinked. Whatever he had expected, it hadn’t been _this._ “The Avengers Compound? But… That’s way upstate.”

“Yeah. If you’re okay with it, we can get you up there in about a month—all in secret, of course.”

Aunt May looked hopeful. “You’ll keep him safe?”

“Of course,” Mr. Stark said. “Not to brag or anything, but the Compound is one of the most technologically advanced buildings in the world. It’s about as safe as you can get.”

“So…” Peter said thoughtfully, turning to May, “We can stay at the Compound? With the _Avengers?_ ”

May laughed, amused. “It’s just for now. We don’t want to bother Mr. Stark too much.”

“Great!” Mr. Stark said. “You don’t have to bring much, we’ll provide most of what you need. Peter, you’ll avoid school for a few days for the press to settle down, then when you go back Happy will drive you. May, we’ll arrange someone to take you to work and keep you safe. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great, Mr. Stark, thank you,” Peter said breathlessly, still unable to wrap his mind around the fact that he would be living with Tony Stark in the Compound. Sure, all the Avengers who’d fought with Cap were still on the run, but Peter was confident that they’d fix things sooner or later. The Avengers could do anything, after all.

“Alright!” the man clapped his hands. “That’s settled. Start packing!”

———

Some time later, the three of them had settled into one of Mr. Stark’s more modest (but still very expensive) cars, with their bags in the trunk, headed off to the Avengers Compound. Peter was still a little apprehensive about the whole situation, but he did feel safer knowing Mr. Stark was looking out for him.

Peter felt someone shaking his shoulder. He jolted awake, and saw Aunt May peering down at him. He must have fallen asleep. “We’re here, Peter,” she said gently.

“M’kay,” he mumbled, half-asleep, and sat up. Groggily, he got out of the car and stood up, shielding his tired, over-sensitive eyes from the sudden light.

The Avengers Compound sprawled before him in all its breathtaking glory— glass walls, expansive fields, and huge, modern-looking white buildings. Peter rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling a lot more awake. He was going to get to stay _here?_

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” Mr. Stark said smugly, “I’ll lead you to your quarters, most everything you need will have been provided already. If you want anything, just ask the AI, FRIDAY. Your aunt will be living right across the hall.”

He guided the two through the Compound toward said living spaces. Peter gaped at everything in the Compound, from the white leather sofas that made his wallet hurt just by looking at them, to the equipment in the training room, and once they even passed an empty lab full of blueprints and intricate machinery. He could see his aunt looking around admiringly as well.

Eventually, they reached their quarters. “Alright, this is where you will be staying,” Mr. Stark told them, “Happy is on vacation—God knows he deserves it—but once he’s back he will drive you to and from school.”  With that, he left them to their own devices.

Peter let out a noise of surprise as he opened the door; the guest room was as big as the apartment he and May shared, with much less ratty furniture and more cutting-edge technology. Peter hadn’t brought much with him, but he had taken his suit and web-shooters, which he hastily shoved into the enormous closet. Then he left his room and entered May’s.

“Hey,” May was sitting on her bed, but turned when she heard him enter. “This is pretty amazing, isn’t it? It’s really quite kind of Mr. Stark to do this for you… Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, me? I’m fine,” Peter responded as he sat next to her. “Better than fine, actually. I mean, I just… feel a lot safer, you know? Knowing that Mr. Stark has my back.”

“That’s good to hear. I’m sure all of this will pass soon, and you can go back to just living your life, as Peter Parker _and_ Spider-Man. You’ll be fine, I promise.” May pulled him closer, holding him against her tightly.

“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “I hope so.”

———

The next few days passed in a blur. Peter was still a little bit unused to the lavish lifestyle, but he most definitely didn’t mind it, all the expensive furniture and exquisite meals.

He entertained himself by exploring the compound. Several times he had gotten himself lost—the sheer size of the place was something he thought he could never get used to.

Sometimes he would spend time with Mr. Stark, which he always enjoyed. The man had been his idol all his life, and sometimes Peter still felt like he was in a dream. He had met _the_ Pepper Potts on his second day there, freaking out and blabbering about how amazing she was. He’d also been more formally introduced to Colonel Rhodes, the War Machine, whom he’d met when they had fought together in Germany. He was paralyzed from the waist down when Vision, who had left to who-knows-where, accidentally shot him in midair. The other heroes he had fought with were also gone—Black Widow was away on a mission and Black Panther was in Wakanda.

There were no more reporters; none that he knew of, anyways. The move had been made in secret, but someone must have noticed by now that Spider-Man was missing from his apartment. If anyone had figured out where he was and come to try to speak with him, they must have been deterred by FRIDAY.

Finally, a week later, the AI informed him that Happy had returned from his vacation and that he would be returning to school the next day. He didn’t think much about it; he was feeling a lot better about having his identity out in the open, less paranoid of an attack on his loved ones. The feeling was still _there,_ and he knew it always would be, but that was only because he cared about his friends and family. At least it wasn’t constantly at the front of his mind, leaving him on the verge of panicking all the time.

He had slowly been becoming more at ease over the past week, hoping that Aunt May was right, that he really could eventually carry on with his life, once everything was over.

That night, he slept peacefully. In the morning, he was refreshed, in a great mood, and ready to face school for the first time in over a week. When it was time to go to school, he went outside and to meet up with Happy. Mr. Stark and Aunt May accompanied him, as well.

When he saw Happy, Peter’s spider-sense buzzed lightly in the back of his head.

He paused his steps, confused. The three adults looked back at him in surprise. “Hey, Peter, are you okay? Is something wrong?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter shook his head, not wanting to cause more trouble for the man after everything he had already done for him. His spider-sense hadn’t reacted with the intensity that it did when he was in immediate danger, but there was a faint, but distinctly present, throb in the back of his mind, warning him that there was something… off about Happy. Something different. Something not right.

It was a strange sensation; his sense had never responded to a person. There was nothing threatening nearby, and he didn’t think that Happy would hurt him. As much as he pretended otherwise, Peter knew the man genuinely cared about him. Peter frowned. What had set off his spider-sense in this strange way, then?

Mr. Stark looked at him doubtfully, then shrugged and gestured toward the car. “Get in, kid, or else you’ll be late to school.” Aunt May also nodded encouragingly

Peter shook his head. Maybe he was reading this wrong? Maybe it wasn’t even his spider-sense. It could have just been nerves from going to school for the first time after his identity reveal. There didn’t seem to be anything to worry about.

Still, even as Peter got into the car hesitantly and waved at Mr. Stark and Aunt May as they took off down the road, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. He frowned, more confused than ever, and resolved to just keep a close eye on the driver. It might have just been him being paranoid; his imagination making him suspect someone when nothing was wrong. Happy wasn’t making any moves to attack him.

———

Throughout the ride, his mind was quiet. Even as he made casual conversation with the man, the buzzing in his head never got to be any more than a faint hum, leading him to believe it really was just nerves, after all.

He turned his head to gaze out the tinted black windows at the buildings passing by. It was a long ride, and, despite the tinnitus in his ears, his eyelids closed heavily.

Suddenly, Peter’s spider-sense flared painfully, so fiercely that he gasped. Something was going to happen. He opened his eyes—Happy was driving into an abandoned warehouse.

Well. That was never a good sign.

Immediately, Peter tore away his seatbelt—with his enhanced strength, he easily ripped the strap—and lunged at Happy out of instinct. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a device that looked almost like a gun, except at the end there were two metal prongs. _A taser_ , Peter thought vaguely, somewhat still in disbelief that he was actually fighting Happy. He jerked away quickly, but not fast enough to avoid the taser as Happy thrust it towards him and turned it on.

White-hot pain lanced through Peter as the electricity coursed through his body, and he gasped for breath. His body was paralyzed, unable to move as Happy took something else out of his pocket—a syringe with some sort of clear liquid in it—and injected it into Peter’s neck.

So his spider-sense really had been warning him about Happy.

Whatever had been injected into him allowed his muscles to loosen up—he could move again. However, his head was suddenly spinning, and his entire body felt hot and dizzy. His breaths were labored and his vision was slipping in and out of focus. Nevertheless, he mustered the strength to punch Happy hard enough to knock him out and make his way unsteadily from the car.

When he got out, however, there were several men in black waiting for him (It’s always, _always_ men in black). Were they working with Happy?

“That serum dosage was enough to kill several normal people instantly,” one of them said with a thick accent. Russian? “And yet you can still move? You are a terrifying boy.”

Peter thought back to the entire day, then realized something else.

He _never_ fell asleep in car rides.

Ever since his parents had died in a plane crash, he had never been able to relax while riding transportation. Had Happy used something to make him let his guard down? Some sort of sleeping gas? _Ha,_ he thought bitterly. _Sleeping gas, a taser to paralyze me, a serum to knock me out, and even backup in case I try to escape? He really thought this whole thing out._

His mind was foggy, his body on the brink of giving out. He could feel a migraine forming at his temples. There was no way he could fight one of the guys, let alone all of them. He put up a fight, though. He punched one man in the face, but without his normal strength, he only staggered back slightly. He ducked an arm and elbowed the dude's throat, feeling as though he was moving in slow motion. He dodged another blow and aimed another punch at a face, with all his dwindling strength behind it. The guy fell down, unconscious, but Peter's momentum didn't stop, and he lurched forwards and lost his balance. He felt someone hit him in the back of his head.

He collapsed, and everything faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So was that alright? I think I did pretty okay...
> 
> Anyways, if you did like it, please leave a comment. Reading them seriously makes me so happy and the like seven of you who actually commented have made me so happy I love you so much. Please stick around for the next chapter!


	4. Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been completely ignoring this story, oops.
> 
> I didn't write anything for almost a month and then churned this out all in one go at 11:00 pm. I keep feeling like I didn't pace it correctly and I didn't capture Tony's emotions right effectively, so oops again.
> 
> (On an unrelated note, I watched Spider-Man FFH a while ago and I loved it. I loved it so much. Also I cried.)

Tony sighed, glancing at the clock on the wall of his lab. The day had passed rather uneventfully after he had sent Peter off for school. He hoped the kid was okay, that no one bothered him too much. In the past, Peter had been very insistent on keeping his nightly endeavors a secret, and he'd always been uncomfortable being in the spotlight, in direct contrast to Tony himself, who thrived in it.

Tony couldn't help being worried. The kid had been through more in fifteen years than most people did in a lifetime. Tony remembered the uproar when he'd revealed himself as Iron Man; he was sure it was extremely overwhelming. Sure, Spider-Man wasn't extraordinarily famous _—_ he stayed close to the ground, protecting the neighborhood, but it would still draw quite a bit of attention. And unlike Tony, the son a world-renowned, brilliant mechanic, a famous face before he could even talk, Peter was just a kid from Queens living with his aunt. He wasn't accustomed to attention.

Peter had texted him a couple hours earlier, saying that he was sleeping over at his friend's—Ted? Ned?—house, and not to worry about him. He asked May about this Ned guy, and she said it was perfectly fine, the two were best friends. Peter probably wanted to be with his friend after the stress of everything that had happened. Happy said he'd be gone a while, didn't mention where, but Tony knew Happy had places to be, so it shouldn't have been any cause for concern.

Still, Tony couldn't help the nagging feeling in the back of his skull that something was very much  _wrong_. In all his years as Iron Man, he'd learned one very import, very disconcerting lesson: No one was ever truly safe, no matter how secure the circumstances seem.

He had a bad feeling about this, a hunch that all was not fine right. Besides, Peter  _had_ seemed a little tense this morning, which Tony had written off as nerves, but what if it was something a little more sinister? The kid always had had good instincts.

Peter hadn't brought his suit to school, even though his secret was out in the open and there was nothing to hide. Tony suspected it was because he wasn't ready to completely acknowledge just how different he was from his classmates just yet; didn't want to be made an outcast. So he couldn't just check Peter's vitals. Instead, he opted for the next best option, which was to just call the kid himself.

"Hey, FRIDAY?" he called out. He knew this was probably him making something out of nothing, a suspicious vigilance born of his paranoia. Still, better safe than sorry, or whatever. "Call Peter Parker."

"Right away, sir." The AI responded. There was a faint ringing noise. It went on for ten seconds, twenty. Then it stopped. "He's not picking up, sir."

Tony felt panic build up in his chest. "Keep calling," he said, not even caring about the frantic undertone of his voice. "Call until he picks up. Make sure he's alright."

"Yes, sir." FRIDAY ran the call once more, to no avail. She called again, then again, then again. Finally, on the sixth try, the call was answered."

"Peter?" Tony was bordering on the edge of hysteria, but made sure to keep his voice meticulously calm. "Are you alright? Just checking in, May's request."

Peter's voice answered. "Yeah, I'm fine. Tell May I'm fine. Ned will send me to school tomorrow, don't worry."

Tony's entire body sagged in relief. He was just being his usual irrational self. Peter was fine. Peter was fine. 

_(Tony didn't catch the slight, wavering strain in the boy's voice, the encrypted plea it concealed, like a desperate call for help.)_

_———_

Peter didn't come home the next day.

———

Now Tony was  _definitely_ worried. May was, too. "I'll go to Ned's house and check on them," she said.

Forty-five minutes later, he saw her slightly-battered old car pull up into the garage. Soon after, she was standing before him. "Well?" he inquired, tapping a pen against his chin.

Then he looked up. May Parker had a panicked, desolate look on her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed. "He wasn't—they said—he was never sleeping over. He was never there. Where was he?" Her eyes widened. "Where  _is_ he?"

Tony's head snapped up so hard and fast his vision blurred for a second. "What?" he demanded, standing up. "He was never there? What are you talking about?"

"I don't know," May said, voice broken. I don't know where he is. I just know he isn't where he's supposed to be. Can—" she hiccuped "—can you find him? Can you bring him back?"

"I will," Tony promised fiercely.  _No one_ messed with his kid. "I will find him, and I will bring him back home."

———

"FRIDAY," Tony said. "Check the location of Happy's car."

A beat. Then, "Sir, the car..." her voice sounded  _uncertain._ He didn't even know she had that ability. "I cannot find it."

"What?" Tony exclaimed, for the second time that day.

"I am sorry, sir. The tracker simply appears to be...gone. No security footage of where it may have gone, either. The cameras appear to have been wiped, and the backups as well. It will be very difficult to recover the missing video. I am afraid that I do not know where Peter Parker is."

 _No. No, no, no._ Were Peter and Happy attacked? Why? There was no way this was a coincidence—it was too thoroughly planned out. "Where was the last place the car _was_ tracked?" 

FRIDAY's voice became almost... puzzled. "Sir, the last place the car was tracked... was here, at the Compound."

 _No._ That couldn't be. If things were disquieting before, they were absolutely _malicious_ now. His security was state-of-the-art, the very best of the best. So either whoever was working behind the scenes was influential enough to infiltrate state-of-the-art technology and circumvent trained guards and officials to disable a tracker on _his_ car in  _his_ building, which would be bad, or someone close to him had turned on him, which would be even  _worse._ He didn't think he could handle another betrayal. "Track Peter's phone."

"The tracker on that has been nullified as well."

Tony's head jerked up. "We  _called_ him! Can't you track the call?"

"I cannot trace the route from which the call came. He called, certainly, but I do not know from  _where._ "

"Can you find Happy's?" Tony tried desperately, though he already knew the answer.

"Negative, sir."

"Then, then send out all the suits that are in stable condition! All of them! Look for Peter and don't stop until you find him. In the meantime, let's get to work on recovering that stolen security footage."

"Deporting all available drones now. Initiating hacking into security cams."

"Do it faster." Tony sank into his arms. Peter hadn't even gone to  _school_? He could be anywhere by now. If he'd been caught by some nefarious organization—and it was clear he had, that much had been made  _very_ obvious—Tony couldn't even imagine what might happen. Just yesterday he'd been worried about whether kids would harass Peter about his vigilante life. Now he had to worry about Peter being taken right from his car like Tony had been in Afghanistan.

Oh, god,  _Afghanistan._

Why hadn't Tony figured that out before? He remembered every second of his captivity like it had been branded into his memory. The heat, the dust, the exhaustion, Yinsen dying—it had been his first glimpse outside his perfect life of wealth and fame and into a broken world of cruelty and pain. Afghanistan was what had showed him that things weren't right, and that he needed to change them. For that, he was grateful.

But he would never wish anything like it on  _Peter_. 

On anyone. But especially not Peter. And he had a feeling that whatever Peter was taken for, it was a lot worse than a request to make some bombs. What if—what if Peter was being used against leverage against Tony, or something? Maybe now that it was public knowledge that he was Spider-Man, someone had taken him to try and get a ransom out of Tony, or as revenge for some grudge they had with him from the past?

There seemed to be a  _lot_ of people with grudges against him.

Peter had  _died_ fighting one of them—the Vulture. Tony had made a lot of mistakes in the past, but only now was he beginning to realize the severity of them. He had screwed up so badly that even now, Peter, innocent, ever-optimistic,  _virtuous_ child that he was, guilty only of being involved with Tony, was suffering from it.

It was Tony's fault. Everything seemed to be Tony's fault now. Homecoming, the Accords, Peter's disappearance and likely kidnapping... couldn't Tony do  _anything_ right?

 _Because you're a worthless piece of garbage,_ a small voice in the back of his head whispered. The voice had been there for years, but he rarely heard it now. It was especially empathetic after large-scale battles with significant collateral damage. And it was rearing its head now.  _Because you're a fool and a coward, hiding behind your mask and party tricks and pretending you're a hero. You've let so many people die. All those people in New York, in Sokovia, they died because you weren't good enough. Because you'll never be good enough. Because all you've done is make mistakes and bring misfortune to the people you pretend to care for—_

 _Shut_ up, Tony whispered back. He knew that. He knew that he'd made mistakes that he could never fix, knew that he'd let innocent people die. But it was necessary. It wasn't like he'd  _killed_ them. He just had other, more important priorities, to stop all of  _mankind_ from being wiped out. 

_You keep telling yourself that._

"Shut  _up_ _!_ " Tony slammed his fist into the table, breathing hard through his nose. His face was damp from sweat and his heart was pounding furiously.

"Is something the matter, Boss?" FRIDAY's concerned voice echoed from the ceiling.

"No, I'm all fine." Tony took a few deep breaths to compose himself, mortified at his outburst. If he kept allowing his emotions to explode like that, he would lose control, and he really wouldn't be able to call himself a hero.

_Not that you were worthy of that title in the first place._

Tony gave a shaky exhale. Not now. He needed to stop focusing on himself, there were more important things to think about.

_Like you'd ever be able to care about other people like that. You know your own comfort will always be above other people's pain on your list of priorities._

What  _was_ that voice? One moment it sounded like Howard, then it morphed into the voices of the villains he'd fought, then— Rhodey. Pepper. Steve— god, it still hurt to think his name. That man, that  _traitor_ , had been his  _friend_ once.

Then— it was Peter.

_You can't save anyone. You're no hero._

Tony clenched its hand into fists. He had priorities right now. The kid was very possibly in life-threatening danger, and here Tony was arguing with a whisper in the back of his mind, which he'd conjured up himself.  _No._ Finding the kid was his goal, right now. His focus. He willed the voice to take a backseat. "Hey, FRI, how're the cams coming? Made any progress yet?"

"I have broken through the firewall and am now searching for any records of Peter in the main database. So far I have found nothing."

Lovely. Just—perfect.

"Keep going. Don't skip over anything.  _Nothing_. Comb through every frame, look for any traces of deleted footage. Find something. Anything. Get my kid back."

"I am doing my best, sir, but the perpetrators were very careful."

"Well then do your best a little bit  _better,_ yeah?" 

"Working on it, boss. But I haven't even found a trace. Whoever it was covered their tracks very well. It is as though Peter Parker has disappeared off the face of the earth altogether."

At that, something inside Tony snaps.  _Disappeared off the face of the earth altogether._ There's a ringing in his ears, a blur in his vision, a knot in his throat, and it hurts, it hurts, and he just wants the pain to stop, but then he feels selfish for focusing on his own pain and not Peter's, and when he thinks of Peter and how he might be missing or even  _dead_ because of Tony, he hurts more, because everything is his fault, his fault, always his fault, and he just  _can't_ stay strong anymore...

And Tony  _screams._

All the frustration and suffering and guilt that he's bottled up since he'd found out Peter was missing tore loose from his throat as he wails, a cry of rage and pain, grasping at the heavens as though he could tear God down to earth and  _demand_ that he bring Tony's kid back.

And with that, all his emotions come rushing out.

_You could never save anyone._

Tony punches a wall. It leaves no mark— he's not superhuman, just he's just a  _self-absorbed_ and  _worthless_ piece of garbage with a fancy suit and too much money (But it really is true, what they say, isn't it? That money can't buy happiness), who let one of the most important people in his life get captured because he wasn't _good enough_ to save him— and only causes his knuckles to split and bleed and ache with a reddening bruise.

_You were never good enough._

Still, he punches again. Imagining that the wall was the face of everyone who had ever hurt Peter— who had ever hurt anyone he had ever cared about. Imagining he could be good enough to avenge them, because he had not prevented the terrible things from happening because he  _wasn't good enough, was never good enough._ Because he was  _weak._

_You were never a hero._

And there's a wet warmth trailing down his face— tears— dripping onto his pristine marble floors and staining his expensive suit and he doesn't even care because what's all the money in the world worth if he can't even keep the people he loves safe?

_Love._

Tony starts, staring at his own blood on the wall, letting his mutilated hand drop back to his side. That's right, Tony loves Peter. He's only known the kid for a short amount of time, and yet he already means the world to Tony, as much as Rhodey or Pepper.

And then Tony went and  _lost_ him.

Tony almost spirals downward again, down into that pit of never-ending blackness, haunted by the phantom whispers of all his mistakes and losses and failures. However, he is cut off by the sharp, smooth voice of FRIDAY.

"Sir, I have scanned sifted through every last device in the area that could possibly have captured anything to give us an indication of where Peter may be, and I have found nothing. It appears that whoever tampered with the cameras was both fastidious and quite skilled in the workings of technology. They have left not a trace behind. Nor have the drones we sent out been able to catch anything.  I apologize to inform you that as of now Peter Parker is effectively missing."

 _No._ Tony sinks down to the floor, covering his face with his hands, shaking and numb to the core. He doesn't even try to muffle the sobs that are wracking through his entire body, leaving him shuddering and vulnerable. In a way, it takes the edge off the pain, as though all the tension is leaking from his body through the tears he sheds, leaving him deflated and oh, so,  _tired_.

_Peter Parker is effectively missing._

_You couldn't save anyone._

_You're a worthless excuse for a human being._

Tony hunches over himself, trying to curl up into his body so tight he'll cease to exist entirely, so that he can escape from this cruel life of never-ending _pain_. He doesn't make a noise as he cries, not even bothering to conceal the tears dripping from his face.

There is none of the violent, almost manic fury from before. In stark contrast to his vehement sobbing just a few moments prior, he is completely silent, all the fight drained out of him.

"Missing..." Tony chuckles bitterly. "All right then. How are we going to break this to May?"

_You can never be a real hero._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like everything is kind of rushed in this chapter and the feeling I tried to convey feels flat and fake, but I'm too lazy to go edit anything so. Yeah.
> 
> I swear I know where the plot is going, I just don't know how the heck to GET THERE and I'm sorry.


End file.
